Takeaways

There used to be a takeaway pizza restaurant on Waverley Road, where the tram ended. You weren’t really supposed to eat there, but the owner had put a little vinyl table by the window and there were four chairs and a holder in the middle for the serviettes.

The worst fight we had was on Church Street in Richmond. We went there for the procedure on a Friday. We argued into the afternoon, sitting in the car under the plane trees, and the car was on the hill so our argument rolled down into the river but that only seemed to give it more energy. We argued until the river was full and the water had spilled into the streets and then we went into the building.

We went into the building together, but they wouldn’t let anyone else into the theatre, so I went in, in my blue nightgown with its opening at the back, and he took the car and drove it through the spilled water out to Hawthorn, where his favourite shop was having a sale. And I lay on the table in the building, and a doctor said to me, “You may feel a little prick,” and a sales assistant said to him, “This one is 30% off.”

Afterwards, they put me in a room with six other girls, and we had Milo and biscuits with names printed on them. He came to pick me up and he had bought a stack of board games that filled up the whole seat, so I had to sit in the front even though I was worried I might hurtle through the windscreen when we hit the banks of the river, which had burst.

We drove to the pizza restaurant on Waverley Road. Even though it was supposed to be for takeaways we sat at the vinyl table by the window and the water slipped by with our argument on it, past the tram terminal and all the way uphill into the mountains, where we have never been.